WHAT IS LIFE ?
I nudge the toast-crumbs around the table, mind elsewhere. Notice a hint of old roses in the air. How can I still be here when you are not ? Can it really be a year since you and I drank cheerful red wine together, laughed at the crab in the rockpool which nipped your foot. We lived that time with casual ease. I read the poet’s words on the crumpled page.
” They are not long, the days of wine and roses :
Out of a misty dream
Our path emerges for a while, then closes
Within a dream. “